Forgotten
by D1g1m0ncrazy
Summary: When Romano visits Spain for dinner one evening, he makes a wish that comes back to haunt him. An infamous lesson of "be careful what you wish for..." A bit of a failure in terms of summary, but please do enjoy. :) No pairings- rated T for safety.
1. Crashing the Party

He heaved a deep sigh as he stood there, studying the massive building before him. He knew this mansion all too well. Indeed, he'd grown up within those walls. His copper eyes narrowed slightly as he thought. If that cheery _jerk_ hadn't so enthusiastically invited him over, there was certainly no way he'd have come all this way. He had_ far_ more _important_ things to do! At least, that's what Romano told himself. With another sigh, the brunette Italian made his way over to the large double doors and knocked loudly. A small growl escaped him as he waited impatiently. That idiot Spain must have forgotten he was coming. The _nerve_ of him!

Just as Romano began to contemplate kicking the doors down, they swung open in a fluid motion. Before he could react, Romano felt himself pulled into a tight hug by an all too familiar Spaniard.

"Romanooooooooo!" Spain sang out cheerily, emerald eyes sparkling with obvious joy.

"L-let go of me, you jerk!" Romano spat as he tried to break free.

The Spaniard chuckled as he released the Italian "Take it easy, amigo! Is that any way to greet me?"

Romano crossed his arms in response.

"Oh come on Romano! Tell me, how was your flight? I bet you're hungry, am I right? ¡Tengo la comida perfecta planeada para la cena!" Spain went on excitedly as he ushered the Italian inside.

"You're so stupid, Spain! I can't understand you when you talk so fast!" Romano snapped. Though that wasn't entirely true, it did silence the Spaniard for a few moments.

Spain ran a hand through his messy brown hair sheepishly "I'm sorry, Romano. It's just so good to see you!"

Romano felt his cheeks color and he averted his gaze. Mannaggia! Why did Spain always have to say things like that? Whenever he said things like that, Romano always felt as if he were still a small, bedwetting child under the Spaniard's care. He hated that. Couldn't Spain see he was all grown up?!

"You're tired from your flight. I understand; mi hijo" Spain said with a smile "If you need anything I'll be in the kitchen fixing dinner."

Romano blinked slowly as he watched the Spaniard walk away. Slowly, Spain's words sunk into his mind and he blushed furiously "W-wait a minute! Spain! I'm not your son, you jerk! You hear me?! Mannaggia!" he called out.

"Just calm down, Romano!" Spain called back; clearly unfazed "We're having a real treat tonight! Paella!"

"You can keep your stupid paella!" Romano shouted "I hate you so much!"

He waited several moments, but gained no reply. The Italian felt his heart sink a little. It figures. That jerk didn't even have the decency to acknowledge he'd said anything! Stupid Spain. Romano clenched his fists, wondering why Spain had to be so irritating. When he spoke, he always said the most ridiculous things… and then he'd turn right around and ignore him! Not to mention, Spain was always so happy, like nothing could ever get him down. It was disgusting! No one in their right mind was happy all the time! Though that wasn't the most annoying thing about all this. No, perhaps the most annoying part was that he _knew_ that Spain _was_ his father. Maybe not by blood, but the Spaniard had raised him and cared for him.

Romano heaved a sigh as he felt his anger dissipating. He didn't really _hate_ Spain. On the contrary, he loved the feeling of being accepted and cared about, regardless of his flaws. Not only was Spain his father, but perhaps his dearest friend. But then again, that was what was so frustrating. Spain would forever see him as a tiny toddler in an apron! It was humiliating to always be seen as 'little' Romano, 'blushing red as a tomato.' Just once, he wished Spain would stop coddling him like a little child and treat him with the respect of a fellow man. He cursed silently as he resigned himself to the fact that was never going to happen.

Meanwhile, Spain worked busily in the kitchen as he hummed a cheery tune.

"_Tonight's paella will be the best Lovino has ever tasted! Surely then he'll calm down and we can have a wonderful visit._" Spain thought to himself.

The Spaniard placed a large carrot on his cutting board and began chopping expertly. This was only one of the many ingredients he'd need for the paella. Perhaps the most crucial ingredient was rice. There were many variations of the dish, but paella without rice simply wouldn't be paella. Spain was confident his particular recipe would be superior to all others. After all, any and all vegetables he used were grown in his own garden- that in itself would enhance the flavor.

He could just imagine when the dish was ready. He'd serve Romano first and then take his own portion. Romano would shovel his food in impatiently, perhaps burn his mouth. Spain would chuckle as Romano grew red as a tomato. The younger nation would avert his gaze and take another bite. His eyes would widen and he'd be in awe of the awesome flavor. Romano would thank him for the wonderful food…

Spain sighed happily as he let the scenario replay over and over in his mind. It was so nice to have Romano in his house again. Not that the younger nation didn't visit him often, but there were times when Spain missed the constant companionship. It was mornings when it really hit him. How he missed little Romano's efforts to wake him up, the bouncing on his stomach, the yelling for him to make breakfast! He hadn't truly understood how precious those moments were until they were gone.

Spain chuckled lightly and shook his head "I'm getting too distracted, time to focus on the paella" he told himself.

He looked over his ingredients thoughtfully and snapped his fingers "I must be losing it, I almost forgot the tomatoes!" he announced.

The Spaniard made his way over to a large pantry that stood on the far wall. Peering inside, he scanned the shelves for the object of his search. Sure enough, a crate of tomatoes sat on the top shelf, admittedly out of his reach. Spain faintly wondered what he'd been thinking putting something he used as often as tomatoes several feet above his head. What's more, what had he been thinking when he'd initially had such a large pantry built? He pushed the thought away and promptly began the search for his wooden stepladder.

It didn't take him long to find the ladder and he set it up without fail. The steps screeched in complaint as he made his way up the stepladder. Spain chuckled nervously; he didn't like the straining sound of that wood. He really ought to invest in a new ladder… Up two more steps.

Screee! The wood groaned.

"_Just grab the box of tomatoes and get down, Antonio. This ladder has lasted you over fifty years, it's not going to break now_" he coached himself mentally.

His hands closed around the crate, grasping it firmly. He stood perfectly still a moment and then hefted the crate up into his arms…

The silence grew uncomfortable and Romano let loose a sigh "I'd better go see if that jerk needs any help cooking dinner." He told himself "_Maybe if I help him, he'll forget about 'cute little Romano' and realize how responsible I am_." He realized that was highly unlikely, but he really wished something like that could happen.

Without warning, a sickening crash and a cry of terror simultaneously filled his ears.

Romano blanched "Spain! Are you alright?!" he shouted, darting for the kitchen.

The eerie silence that greeted him twisted his stomach into knots. Frantically, the Italian raced inside the kitchen, eyes scanning the room. His heart pounded, his concern growing with each passing second. His eyes locked onto their target and all at once brimmed with tears "SPAIN!" he cried out as he rushed over to the older man.

The Spaniard's body lay crumpled on the floor beside a very much broken ladder. Soft, red liquid pooled onto the floor around his head. Romano took a shaky breath as he realized that a box of tomatoes nearby was the source of the emission and not Spain. However, this was of little comfort, as Spain was unconscious and quite possibly had hit his head. Kneeling beside the Spaniard, Romano attempted to rouse him.

"C-come on, Spain! Wake up, you stupid jerk!" Romano blurted, voice wavering with concern.

A soft groan filled the air.

Romano felt his heart skip a beat as he watched Spain- hoping it was merely the shock of the fall that had caused the Spaniard to fall unconscious, and that he would awaken with a bit more coaxing. Sadly, his hopes were dashed as Spain remained unconscious.

His first instinct was to pull the older nation into his lap, to check his head for injury. Surely then he could help Spain. He shook his head to clear it. No, that wasn't the right choice. Romano seemed to recall something about not moving an unconscious person- especially if there was a head injury involved. And while he couldn't confirm exactly how Spain had fallen or landed, a head injury seemed likely. Taking a deep breath, he realized he'd have to call an ambulance right away.

With this in mind, Romano stood to his feet and dashed out into the hall where Spain's telephone sat atop a decorative table. He dialed with haste, waiting impatiently as the call rang through.

Finally, he was greeted by a thickly accented male voice. "Hola, esto es 1-1-2. ¿Cuál es la emergencia?"

Romano bit back the urge to shout and spoke as clearly as possible.

"Escucha... Antonio Carriedo es inconsciente-se cayó de una escalera y creo que golpeó la cabeza! Por favor, usted tiene que hacer algo! Él no se despierta!"

"No intente mover a él. Un equipo médico será enviada inmediatamente. ¿Sabe la casa dirección?" the man replied calmly.

"…Sí" Romano said flatly and relayed the address.

"La ambulancia está en su camino" the man replied, sounding almost too cheerful. It made Romano shudder. Were all Spain's people carefree and happy regardless of the situation?

Hanging up the phone, Romano made his way back into the kitchen and over to Spain. The red puddle around his head had only grown in size and seemed to have darkened swirls drifting throughout it... Was part of that blood?

"Mannaggia Spain! Why did you have to fall off of that stupid ladder? Do you hear me, you jerk? Why! Mannaggia! Why?!" Romano felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he yelled at the unconscious nation "I s-swear! If I find out this is all some stupid joke I'm going to kill you, Spain! I'll kill you!" Romano screeched as the tears continued to fall. He was incredibly worried for the older nation. Sure, Spain had hit his head before- but he usually didn't fall unconscious. Furthermore, if he did fall unconscious he usually woke up with very little prompting! This had happened so very quickly, and Romano felt rather beside himself at the moment. He was torn over what to do. If Spain was bleeding from the head, he should try to stop it… but then he wasn't supposed to move Spain. Mannaggia. With a deep sigh, Romano decided the best thing to do was to wait for the ambulance to arrive and hope to God he was doing the right thing.

**Author's Note:**

**Hello everyone, I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter of my newest Hetalia Fanfic. As you may have guessed this isn't a 'sick fic'. However, this story will continue with the Friendship/ Hurt/ Comfort themes of my previous Hetalia fics- as you can probably already guess by the handy categorization. Yes, I injured poor Spain before he could finish making the paella. I certainly hope no one is offended by my vague portrayal of the dish, but for what it's worth I did some research on it before throwing it into the story. Funny thing is, after writing this chapter I listened to Spain's character songs and noticed they mention paella! *laughs* An unplanned coincidence, but somehow fitting. =) And I actually looked up Spain's Emergency number to be more authentic as not to repeat a mistake made in Lean on Moi (That I may very well fix eventually. Thanks to Ms. Britain for pointing it out). I'll let you infer what will take place next chapter; though I'm sure it's quite obvious. I also included translation notes due to the fair amount of Spanish in this chapter =) Reviews make me happy and see you in Chapter 2!**

_*****Translations*****_

**¡Tengo la comida perfecta planeada para la cena! (Spanish)-** I have the perfect meal planned for dinner!

**Mannaggia! (Italian)-** D*** It!

**Mi hijo (Spanish) -** My son

**Paella (Spanish) -** A Spanish rice dish that originated in the 19th century near a lagoon in Valencia on the east coast of Spain.

**Hola, esto es 1-1-2. ¿Cuál es la emergencia? (Spanish)- **Hello, this is 1-1-2. What is the emergency?

**Escucha... Antonio Carriedo es inconsciente-se cayó de una escalera y creo que golpeó la cabeza! Por favor, usted tiene que hacer algo! Él no se despierta! (Spanish)- **(You) Listen… Antonio Carriedo is unconscious- he fell off of a ladder and I think he hit his head! Please, you have to do something! He will not wake up!

**No intente mover a él. Un equipo médico será enviada inmediatamente. ¿Sabe la casa dirección? (Spanish)- **Do not attempt to move him. A medical team will be sent out immediately. Do you know the house address?

**S****í (Spanish) - **Yes

**La ambulancia está en su camino (Spanish) - **The ambulance is on its way


	2. Confusion

It had been a few hours now since Spain had been whisked off into the Emergency room. Living with the Spaniard all those years had blessed Romano with the ability to fill out his medical information flawlessly. He supposed that was a good thing, given the circumstances. However, it was hardly a thing he rejoiced at. After all, he wouldn't need to know Spain's medical information if Spain wasn't hurt. Heaving a sigh, Romano shifted in the waiting room chair. He faintly wondered if the chairs were purposely crafted to minimize comfort. It was as if they were designed to purposefully add to the uncomfortable atmosphere that always hung in the air. Waiting, wondering; worrying… only interrupted on occasion by a cheery doctor or seemingly ignorant nurse waltzing by.

He was just about to resign himself to a night of this discomfort, when a heftily built man clad in a white lab coat walked through the Emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights shown off his bald pate as he made his way over to the Italian.

"¡Lovino Vargas! ¿Cómo estás?" the doctor smiled "I haven't seen you in here since Antonio brought you in for that second degree burn last year from what was it…"

"Pasta Sauce" Romano grunted.

"Ah! Sí, I remember. You had spilled it all over your arm, yes?" the man smiled in amusement.

"How is Antonio doing? Is he alright?" Romano inquired, pointedly ignoring the doctor's attempts to strike up a long conversation. As it was, he hardly knew the man and he couldn't care less about having a conversation of substantial depth with him.

"The trauma to his head wasn't too severe. I've already bandaged his head and he appears to be stable." The doctor reported.

"So I can take him home then?" Romano questioned, perhaps in disbelief.

"¡Por supuesto!" the doctor smiled "Though we do need to verify a few things. Not to mention, he'll probably be a bit confused and disoriented when he wakes up."

"So he hasn't woken up yet?" concern hinted in the Italian's voice.

"Not to worry, Señor Vargas. He'll wake up soon." The larger man placed a hand on Romano's shoulder.

Romano scowled, resisting the urge to shove the Spaniard's hand away. He didn't like being touched, especially by a stranger. He didn't care if he was a doctor, or one of Spain's citizens.

The doctor simply smiled in turn "Now now, why don't you come with me and we'll check in on Antonio, Hm?"

That got Romano's attention.

Meanwhile, Spain blinked his eyes open blearily. Squinting against the bright lights, he tried desperately to grasp his surroundings. _Where was he?_ He groaned pitifully and clamped his eyes shut. His mind felt so hazy and exhausted… perhaps it was best just to go back to sleep- to return to the darkness from whence he'd surfaced. Yes, surely that was the answer.

An annoying prodding at his arm seemed to have decided otherwise. With another groan, the Spaniard became acutely aware of a feminine voice beside him.

"Stay awake, Señor. You hit your head and have suffered a concussion, we need to make sure everything is alright" the woman said.

Spain squinted open his eyes once more, eying the woman for several minutes. "Who are you?" he asked at last.

"¡Hola! I am your nurse. Me llamo María." The woman beamed at him.

"I…see" he murmured tiredly.

"Just take it easy, Señor- you'll be home resting before you know it" the nurse added cheerily.

There was a brief shuffle from the other side of the door as the knob was turned. For an instant, the bustling noises of the hallway filled the hospital room as the doctor ushered Romano inside.

"Ah! Dr. Gonzales!" the nurse chirped "Perfect timing! The patient just woke up"

As the doctor proceeded to chat with his nurse, Romano slipped over to Spain's bedside. The older country looked thoroughly exhausted; Romano guessed that was largely due to Spain's head injury.

"Y-You scared me, you jerk! You have no idea how worried I was about you!" the Italian scolded, voice laced with emotion.

Spain winced at Romano's shouting, the noise was entirely too loud for him.

Romano heaved a sigh and looked at the Spaniard sympathetically "How are you feeling?"

Emerald eyes shifted to focus on copper ones. A frown crossed Spain's lips as he broke the gaze "I'm sorry… but do I know you?"

Romano's expression morphed from shock to anger "Mannaggia! You stupid jerk! How dare you joke with me like that?! It's not funny, mannaggia!"

Spain whimpered and grasped his head shakily "I swear to you… I do not know you! Please… Please… don't yell at me…" he murmured.

Romano stood there stunned. Spain didn't _know_ him? _What was going on?_ The doctor had said Spain would be a little disoriented, but what was _this_ about?! Romano babbled unintelligibly as he tried to voice the thoughts running through his mind. Tears began to bubble in the corners of his eyes. He felt a hand pat his shoulder as Dr. Gonzales stepped up beside him.

The doctor wore a calm expression as he locked gaze with Spain. He spoke gently "I am Doctor Gonzales. You hit your head pretty hard, and I'm here to help you."

Spain took in a deep, shaky breath "Okay."

"Tell me, do you remember who you are?" the doctor asked, voice patient and smooth.

"N-nurse María… she called me Señor" Spain said slowly.

"Is that your name?" the doctor inquired, offering a soft smile.

"I… I think so…Yes." Spain decided.

It was then that Romano found his tongue "No! That's not it at all!" he cried "Your name is Antonio…. Antonio Carriedo!"

"A-Antonio?" Spain asked feebly.

"Yes, you are Antonio, also known as Sp-"Romano was cut off by the rather abrupt sound of someone clearing their throat. He glanced accusingly at Dr. Gonzales, eyes narrowed.

"Nurse, why don't you assess the patient further while I speak with Señor Vargas." The doctor said with a smile.

"Muy bien." The nurse replied with a nod. She turned her full attention to Spain, flashing a brilliant smile.

Dr. Gonzales in turn gave Romano a warning gaze. His tone, however, remained incredibly friendly "Come with me, Señor Vargas. We will talk out in the hall."

A bit unnerved by the doctor's gaze, the Italian followed him out into the hall. The minute the door was closed, Romano glared at the man "What was that about?! You said he'd be a little confused?! He has amnesia, you idiot! That's a big difference! Mannaggia!"

Dr. Gonzales placed a finger to his lips and smiled "Shh! Not here, Señor. He'll hear you."

"What?"

"Just follow me, Señor Vargas… You need to walk out your frustration anyway, Hm?" the doctor's grin broadened.

With a grunt of defeat, Romano consented to following the bulky man.

When they had made it halfway down the hall, Dr. Gonzales turned to Romano "That was a close one back there." He chuckled in amusement "It's a good thing I caught you before you could tell him who he really is."

"What's that supposed to mean?! Why can't I tell Antonio that he is Spain?!" Romano snapped.

"Put yourself in Señor Carriedo's shoes. He doesn't remember who he is, or who anyone else is for that matter. Now imagine if your mind was a blank slate and all of a sudden some stranger bombarded you with all sorts of information. What's more, that same stranger accused you of being a liar and told you that you were a _country_. How would you feel?"

"I… I don't know… confused I guess" Romano admitted.

"Try overwhelmed" Dr. Gonzales waved his hands for emphasis "That's something monumental… you can't just throw that at him like it's nothing. If he can't even come to terms with his human identity, what makes you think putting the weight of an entire country on his shoulders is going to help, Hm?"

Romano was silent a long moment "I guess I didn't think of that" he admitted "But still, why did he even lose his memory in the first place?! I thought you said he was alright!"

"Sometimes when a patient has a concussion, they experience post-traumatic amnesia. The effects can last anywhere from a matter of minutes to a matter of days depending on the severity of damage taken by the brain. I must admit I wasn't expecting Antonio to lose his memory, but he should be fine." Dr. Gonzales explained.

"H-how can you be so sure?" Romano's voice faltered.

"You seem to be forgetting I tended his injury myself, Señor. There shouldn't be any permanent damage… Though if he's not back to himself in a day's time, bring him back in, Hm?" the doctor replied.

Romano frowned "Mannaggia! How can you say that so calmly?!"

"It's called keeping a positive attitude, Señor Vargas!" Dr. Gonzales chuckled "It would do you a world of good if you ask me."

The Italian blinked "What?"

"Be calm. Get him to trust you. Make him comfortable. And most importantly, don't push him. If you can do that, I'm sure you'll notice Spain improving."

Romano considered the doctor's words.

"Now why don't you try talking to Señor Carriedo again?" Dr. Gonzales smiled.

As much as he hated to admit it, that annoyingly cheerful doctor had made a point. Yelling at Spain wouldn't get him anywhere. He felt guilt knotting in his chest as he recalled his earlier wish for Spain to forget about 'Cute little Romano.' Oh he'd forgotten alright. _Mannaggia._ Of all the times he'd wished for something, why did _that_ particular wish have to be the one that actually came true. The very idea made him feel sick inside. The thought that he'd actually wished this on Spain. Not that he believed in such things, but the irony was just sickening. All he'd truly wanted was to be treated like a responsible adult… He hadn't really wanted Antonio to forget about him. He let loose a frustrated sigh and rubbed his temples. For an instant he expected Dr. Gonzales to say something more. However, when the Italian glanced around he noticed the doctor was nowhere in sight. He probably had more important matters to tend to. That was just fine, however, Romano decided. He had been given a second opportunity to talk to Spain and he was going to take it.

Letting loose yet another sigh, Romano made his way back up the hallway toward the room that currently housed Spain. He wrapped at the door lightly and waited to be told he could come in before he attempted to enter.

Spain was now seated on the edge of the bed, fingers buried in his shaggy brown hair.

Romano approached slowly and stood before Spain "H-hey Antonio… do you mind if I sit down next to you?" he asked as gently as he could manage.

"…Go ahead-" the Spaniard paused awkwardly, not knowing what to call the other man.

"I'm Lovino… but everybody calls me Romano" the Italian offered a wobbly smile.

"Romano?" Spain questioned, confused, green eyes trained on the Italian.

"Sí?" Romano replied, sitting beside Spain.

"I am sorry… that I don't remember you… I wish I did…" the Spaniard sighed sadly.

Romano bit back fresh tears "D-don't worry about it. You hit your head pretty hard and I was worried… I didn't mean to take my frustration out on you."

"It's… okay" Spain muttered.

"I know you don't remember it… but w-we live together" Romano lied gently; it would be easier to get Spain to go home if he made things simpler.

"We… do?" Spain blinked.

Romano nodded "Yes. We go way back…" he swallowed a lump in his throat "We're the best of friends."

There was a long pause and Romano berated himself for the lie he'd told. He hadn't lived with Spain for years! What's more, Antonio probably saw him as some crazy, intolerable jerk at the moment… there was no way he'd buy his story…

"…I can believe that" the Spaniard's voice broke the silence.

"I know it's hard to believe, but you have to- wait. What did you just say?!" Romano's eyes widened as he turned to Spain.

"You do seem worried about me… and when you quiet down… you seem like a nice person…" the Spaniard said, offering a weary smile.

"Y-you mean that?" Romano's voice cracked slightly.

Spain closed his eyes and sighed deeply "Yes… I mean it"

"You really want to sleep… don't you?" Romano asked, biting his lip.

Weary green eyes fluttered open "Is it… that obvious?"

"L-let me check with the doctor, and then I'll see about taking you home. Just sit here and relax, okay?" the Italian said, getting up.

For the second time, Spain flashed that tired smile "Gracias… Romano."

**Author's Note:**

**And so ends Chapter 2. It's fun to write for Romano and Spain, though I do hope I'm portraying them well enough. For the record, both of their personalities are likely to be slightly off for a bit, Romano as he is trying not to scare Spain- and Spain obviously due to his lack of autobiographical memory. After all, he believed his name was Señor! *laughs* I feel like such a villain, torturing my favorite characters- but then I think of all the drama and fluff that spawns from said events =) I hope you all have enjoyed the story thus far! Reviews make me happy and see you in Chapter 3!**

_*****Translations*****_

**¿Cómo estás? (Spanish)-** How are you?

**¡Por supuesto! (Spanish)-** Of Course!

**Señor (Spanish) - **Mister/Sir

**¡Hola! (Spanish)- **Hello!

**Me llamo (Spanish) - **My name is

**Muy Bien (Spanish) - **Very well

**Sí (Spanish) - **Yes

**Gracias (Spanish) -** Thank you


	3. Never waste Tomatoes

He held his head in his hands, eyes closed. That Italian-Romano- had left the room several minutes ago to speak with the doctors on his behalf. Spain heaved a tired sigh, his head ached so badly and everything was so confusing. The lights were too bright, each voice just a bit too loud, and every word that reached his ears set off a small explosion in his mind. What a terrible thing it was, to be surrounded by people who seemed to know so much about him- and yet to have no recollection of them. Not to mention, he had no memory of his own life. He knew this couldn't be normal. He was much too large to be a baby- surely he'd lived a decent chunk of life. He wished he could remember it. Were he not so exhausted, he'd perhaps have been a little angry with himself. As things were, however, all that really mattered to him was the promise of a home Romano had offered to bring him to. A bed he could rest in… to sleep. Perhaps then everything would make more sense.

The door squeaked slightly as the Italian opened it once more. He walked over to the Spaniard and set a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder, "Hey Antonio, it's time to go home."

Spain looked up at the man, blinking slightly.

"Come on, the doctor said it's okay. I'll have to call a cab, though." Romano mused.

"Alright." Spain finally said, seeming to understand. He stood from the bed and waivered; clearly off balance.

"Easy, don't fall over!" Romano burst out, moving to steady the Spaniard. "Here…let me help you."

With as much care as he could manage, he guided Spain out into the waiting room and had him sit down while he called for a taxi cab. Fortunately, the cab didn't take long to arrive and in almost no time at all Romano found himself helping Spain into the back of a bright yellow taxi.

The Spaniard leaned back in his seat tiredly as Romano slipped in next to him, shutting the cab's door as he did so.

For the majority of the ride, Spain relaxed silently. Romano would occasionally direct the cabbie, but otherwise he didn't put forth much effort to talk either. He figured Spain deserved a small break from all the confusing chatter.

As they pulled up to Spain's residence, Romano paid the driver and got out of the cab. Recalling the difficulty Spain had experienced upon standing, Romano knew he couldn't let him try and walk up to the mansion on his own. Before Spain got the idea to so much as attempt to walk independently, the Italian made his way to the other side of the car and opened the door.

He held out a hand and offered the most convincing smile he could manage "Take my hand… alright? I won't let you fall."

The Spaniard smiled gratefully and took Romano's hand, letting him guide the way up to the large building.

Mentally, Romano was incredibly relieved he'd carelessly left the door unlocked as it allowed them to get inside that much easier. Not to mention, he hadn't thought to grab Spain's keys in all his panic. He led the Spaniard inside and flicked on the lights.

It became obvious Spain was overwhelmed by the sight, as he fell backwards against the Italian "Th-th-this is h-h-home?" he managed, eyes wide.

"Sí…You've got a large casa, huh?" Romano laughed lightly.

Spain got over the initial shock and relaxed slightly "Sí."

"I'll give you the grand tour tomorrow; right now I'll just show you where your room is." Romano said.

"Gracias." the Spaniard sighed; seemingly relieved he wouldn't have to process everything at once.

Slowly, but surely, Romano led Spain up the stairs and down a long hallway to the master bedroom.

That room held so many memories.

How many times as a child had he made his way to this room, scrambled onto the bed, and woken Spain up? How many times had he scurried into this room at night, eyes wide and heart beating rapidly because he'd had a nightmare and wet the bed? More than he'd like to count. Normally, those memories would have been embarrassing, but now they were painful. Painful because the one he had shared those memories with had no recollection of anything.

Romano pulled back the covers of Spain's bed. The Spaniard groaned and sat on the king sized bed, rubbing his face fervently. Romano slipped the older country's boots off, before locking gaze with him.

"Alright… now lie down and sleep." he said firmly.

Another groan and Spain was lying down, staring up at him tiredly "Gracias Reynaldo… for everything."

"It's Romano." The Italian said, voice sounding far more annoyed than he would have liked.

"Sorry..." Spain murmured, eyelids fluttering "…Romano."

He fell asleep rather quickly and Romano was left staring at his mentor. He chewed his lip. He was supposed to monitor Spain, right? But then, the doctor hadn't said he needed constant observation… He suddenly recalled the neglected mess in the kitchen. Knowing he certainly couldn't leave it lying around, Romano quickly realized his next plan of action.

Romano made his way to the kitchen and rubbed his temples. What a mess! With a sigh, he set about beginning the clean up process. He made sure to sweep up and dispose of the broken and splintered wood that littered the floor. He glared evilly at the remains of the step ladder before shoving them into a large garbage bag. Good riddance. There was no way that thing was going to cause another hazard. Once that mess was out of the way, Romano turned his attention to the crate of tomatoes and set about salvaging as many of them as he deemed worth saving. Despite the crate in itself quite possibly being the object that Spain had hit his head off of, Romano saw no reason to waste all the tomatoes. After all, surely Spain wouldn't want tomatoes to go to waste. He placed the good tomatoes in a bowl on the kitchen counter, and disposed of the rest of them with the crate.

He eyed the puddle on the floor and shuddered. The pool of oozing red liquid only served as a reminder to the horror scene he'd been faced with earlier. Romano shook his head to clear it and fetched a mop and bucket. The sooner he mopped up the scarlet mess, the sooner he would be rid of the unwelcome sight. He mopped in silence, as he permitted his mind to wander. He'd rather think about anything than the red liquefied mess before him. He wracked his brain for something unrelated, but somehow all his thoughts turned to was the paella. Spain had seemed so enthusiastic about fixing the dish for dinner… The way he'd referred to it as a treat- Romano could only conclude that the Spaniard had been prepared to put his very best effort into the meal. His heart sank. Spain had gotten injured trying to please _him_. Why had he even used that rickety old stepladder? He must have deemed it worthwhile to reach something- the crate of tomatoes- it all made sense. The Spaniard _knew_ how much Romano adored tomatoes. Spain had spared no expense; he was going to use his very best tomatoes in the paella. All he'd wanted was a nice, quality dinner with his adoptive son… And what had _he_ been doing? Romano groaned guiltily. _He'd_ been angrily wishing Spain would _stop _treating him like his child.

As he finished mopping, Romano reflected on that sentiment. Was it really so bad that Spain treated him like he was a kid? Sure, it could get annoying… but Spain probably got lonely. At least Spain could say nice things about him… he couldn't say the same thing for his brother. Whenever the topic came up, Feliciano would shy away wordlessly. It wasn't fair… he would praise that potato loving freak- but he couldn't say something nice about _him_? For crying out loud! They both represented a part of the same country! Spain, on the other hand, had complimented him multiple times. Though the Spaniard could sometimes be a jerk, he'd accepted him for who he was. If Spain could do that, couldn't he- Romano- simply allow Spain to coddle him? If even a little bit?

"Mannaggia! I don't know!" Romano growled to himself. There wasn't much point in those thoughts anyhow, he realized. At least, not right now. Spain didn't remember him! He'd been lucky the Spaniard had even been willing to trust him at all.

With a sigh he glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was quarter 'til one in the morning.

That meant it had been about forty five minutes since he'd tucked Spain into bed. Upon realizing this, Romano decided the best course of action then, was to check on the Spaniard. He made his way up the stairs and down eastern hallway to Spain's bedroom.

He was careful not to make too much noise as he approached the Spaniard's bedside. Even in the darkness, he could make out the intense confusion on Spain's sleeping face. What must it be like? To not remember one's own life? Surely there was the benefit, the loss of previous emotional scars- but there was also the cause for fresh wounds. To be surrounded by people that claimed to know you, that seemed to know so much about you- and to not have an inkling of a memory to go on. It must be shattering. It had hurt Romano deeply when Spain had sworn he didn't know him, it had felt like a stab to the heart. He could only imagine how scared and confused Spain felt.

It was then that Romano decided something. If Spain didn't remember him, then so be it. He wouldn't try to force memories into Spain's mind. However, there was no reason he shouldn't try to make new memories. He would make the very best paella he was capable of and share it with Spain… Even if his father-former caretaker- didn't remember him he was sure the gesture would be a step in the right direction. And perhaps, in making this paella, he would be able to set himself free from the guilt that weighed heavily in his chest. It would be a peace offering, a way to say he was sorry… Heaven knows he was too proud to say those words aloud.

His mind made up, Romano slipped out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen so he might set to work. Never before in his life had he wanted so badly to make Spain proud more than now. Guilt was an awful thing, he mused. It had a way of making people do things that they'd normally never do. Surely up to this point he had never strived to make the perfect paella! However, now that it was to be his peace offering, he worked diligently to be sure it came out just right. So absorbed with making the dish the best it could be, Romano worked into the early morning hours, grueling over details. At long last, the Italian was satisfied with his work and let loose a sigh.

"All I can say is that stupid jerk had better enjoy this." he huffed, but a small smile formed on his lips. When Spain was in his right mind again… surely he'd be so proud of him. His eyes drifted to the clock on the wall and he froze.

Realizing he hadn't been to check on the Spaniard for several hours now, the Italian swore under his breath. Hastily, he put the paella in the fridge for later. So what if he'd just finished making it? There would be time to heat it up later! For all he knew, Spain really needed him right now! He made a mad dash up the stairs as to see how Spain was fairing. Lord knows he'd probably left him alone longer than he should have. What if Spain had woken up confused and stumbling around? He swung the bedroom door open and sighed in relief to discover Spain still safely nestled under the blankets.

Good. That jerk wasn't going to worry him any more for the time being. The Italian stifled a yawn, noticing for the first time he was feeling rather tired. He contemplated getting a few hours sleep, but perished the thought. He'd lucked out that Antonio had stayed asleep for those few hours. Who knew when he'd wake up? With another sigh, the Italian sat at the foot of Spain's bed, watching him slumber as his mind drifted to days long since passed.

**Author's Note:**

**End of Chapter 3. I get the nagging feeling someone will call this recycled material as for the second fic in a row I've utilized a hospital. Though let's face it, of all the things Romano may be, a doctor is not one of them. This fic has also become suspiciously paella themed. I have half a mind to rename it 'Paella Para Mi Amigo', but I think I'll stick to 'Forgotten.' =) Probably one or two chapters more tops. However, I'm pretty sure it will only be one more. Reviews make me happy and see you in chapter 4 =)**

_*****Translations*****_

**Casa (Spanish)-** house/ home

**S****í (Spanish)- **Yes

**Gracias (Spanish)- **Thank You/ Thanks

**Paella Para Mi Amigo (Spanish)-** Paella for my friend.


	4. Puzzling it all out

It was quarter after ten in the morning. A groan filled the air as Spain rolled over in bed, beginning to stir. Romano watched the Spaniard closely, was he finally waking up? With another groan, green eyes fluttered open. Spain scanned the room hazily, attempting to get his bearings. Where was he? He'd never seen this place before. However had he managed to find his way into such a nice, comfy bed? Slowly, the memories of the night before sunk in "Oh…that's right… That Romano guy brought me home…" he murmured.

"Hey, you're awake. Did you sleep alright, Antonio?" Romano asked.

Spain blinked sleepily "Sí… I guess so."

"So…how's your head?" Romano asked softly.

"It still hurts… but I guess that is to be expected." The Spaniard said quietly.

"I'm sorry." The Italian replied.

"No. I-I'm sorry… I still don't remember you." Spain averted his gaze, frowning.

"Don't worry about it…" Romano said, offering a smile. He cleared his throat to signify a change of subject "I have a surprise for you downstairs."

"A… surprise?" Spain asked weakly.

Romano smirked "Don't worry, you'll like this surprise."

The Spaniard looked at him uncertainly "…If you say so."

Romano stood and held out a hand to the older nation "Just trust me, alright?"

Spain took the Italian's hand, pulling himself from the bed, "Alright."

With a satisfied nod, Romano guided the Spaniard out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs toward the mansion's main floor. While Spain once more marveled at the sheer size of the structure, Romano busied himself with reheating his culinary masterpiece. He tried to keep in check with the very possible reality that Spain wouldn't so much as recall the dish. However, deep down Romano wanted nothing more than for Spain to be proud of his cooking and by extent- proud of him.

In no time at all, Romano found himself escorting Spain out to the veranda; beckoning him to take a seat at the quaint little table that was present. Placing the paella on the table, Romano's heart began to pound with anticipation. _Would Spain remember it?_

Suddenly, Romano felt as though he was choked up, and he wasn't quite sure why.

"Th-this is called paella… I made it for the two of us to share." His voice shook slightly, despite his best efforts "I- I'm sure you'll like it." He continued.

"Something tells me I already do." Spain said softly, sad green eyes trained on the Italian.

"Sí… well…" Romano cleared his throat "Let me know what you think."

He served Spain a portion before taking his own. The Italian began to eat quietly, watching the Spaniard out of the corner of his eye.

Spain's eyes lit up as he took his first taste. "What did you say this was called…Romano?"

"Paella." The Italian said with a small smile.

"It has so many different flavors… all blended together!" Spain took another bite, "¡Te amo paella!"

Romano smiled "You sound like your old self again."

"¿Qué?" the Spaniard blinked. His expression was clearly one of confusion "What do you mean by that… Romano?"

"You've always been a cheerful person… even when people around you are angry or upset; you always have so much energy. You always have such a big smile…" the Italian chose his words carefully.

"_In fact… you smile too much. It gets creepy and annoying and makes me feel like barfing… however..._" Romano thought to himself "_I was starting to miss you... you cheery jerk!_"

"Always a smile..." the Spaniard squinted as he considered the notion.

"…Anyway, I'm glad you like the paella. I made sure to use lots of tomatoes." Romano said.

"_Buono Tomato! Buono Tomato!_" a young voice echoed through Spain's mind.

He gripped his head as images began to race through his mind at top speed.

"…_Red on the bottom…Green on the top!.._"

Spain groaned in discomfort… none of these images made any sense!

"Hey! Antonio, are you alright?!" Romano asked with sudden concern.

"…_Toma- toma- tomato…_"

The Spaniard buried his fingers deeper into his wavy brown hair, whimpering "Make it stooooop!" he pleaded.

"Make what stop? What's happening to you?!" the Italian asked frantically, standing from his seat.

Spain's eyes were clamped shut as he cried once more "Th-the images… I don't understand! Th-there are too many!" he wailed.

Romano took a deep breath and set a hand on the Spaniard's shoulder "E-easy now…Easy." He said as soothingly as he could.

"It huuuuurts! Gaaah!" Spain cried.

"D-don't focus on the pain, Mannaggia!" Romano burst out. He inhaled deeply, forcing his voice to become calmer "Don't focus on the pain…or all the images…Just listen to the sound of my voice… it is going to be okay, Antonio."

It was terribly awkward. Never in his wildest dreams had Romano imagined he'd be the one comforting Spain. Spain had always been so happy, which was a good thing, Romano was sure. He was usually terrible at comforting people… he couldn't count how many times he'd made Feliciano cry. He wished that just this once he would say the right thing… to make the situation better, not worse.

"It will be okay, Antonio." he repeated "I-I promise."

He heard the Spaniard's breathing hitch, followed by a deep exhale. Romano studied Spain, looking for some sign the episode was over.

Another deep sigh and Spain dropped his hands from his head. He blinked open his fragile, green eyes and offered a weak smile, "Gracias Romano…" he shifted uneasily "I'm sorry about…_that_."

"Don't worry about it…you're going through a lot right now." Romano said as gently as he could manage.

Spain was silent a few moments, before looking helplessly to the Italian "I-I think I need to lie down for a while." He said at last.

"Yeah…that's fine." Romano said softly.

Spain stood from his chair slowly and wordlessly; pushing it in as he did so.

"Here…I'll lead you back to your room." Romano said awkwardly, trying his very best to sound helpful. The two countries walked inside in complete silence. Neither of them spoke so much as a word on their way up the stairs and down the hall. Spain was quite simply worn out and Romano wasn't sure what he _should_ say. The bedroom door creaked as the Italian pushed it open, breaking the silence.

As the Spaniard crawled into his bed, he focused his eyes on the Italian once more.

"Tell me… why is it you are so kind to me?" he asked wearily.

Romano's cheeks colored, as if he were embarrassed, "W-why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know…" Spain said driftily, his eyelids fluttering.

"Don't ask such stupid questions, Sí?" Romano said. Though his words were meant to be insulting, they hardly came across that way.

It dawned on the Spaniard's tired mind that Romano must be embarrassed and he smiled softly, "I'm sorry." He murmured, sleep quickly claiming him.

The Italian stood over the older nation, watching him with a soft expression.

"_I'm sorry, Spain… but you wouldn't understand my reasoning… you wouldn't understand that it is because… you are mi padre._" Romano thought to himself. Surely it wasn't something he could admit aloud. Even under normal circumstances, he didn't dare utter those words. Now that Spain didn't remember him, it would make it an even bigger mistake should he say anything of the sort. He sighed sadly; he was really starting to miss Spain. Even though Antonio Carriedo was physically there, the cheery, tomato loving Spaniard was nowhere to be found. No. He'd been replaced by this frightened and confused man that lay before him. It made Romano's heart ache.

"_Please…Spain…come back soon…_" Romano thought to himself, his hands clenched into fists. He left the room silently. He chose to turn his thoughts to cleaning up the table on the veranda, and preserving the leftover paella.

Meanwhile, Spain found himself in the middle of a confusing dream. He was in a quiet forest surrounded by nature's beauty. It would almost have been relaxing were it not interrupted by a child-like voice.

"_Ve~ Are you coming, hermano España?_" chirped a small figure clothed in white.

"_W-who are you?_" Spain blinked; this child looked no more than four years old! Where had he come from?

The child simply giggled and began to sprint away.

"_Hey! W-wait a minute!_" he called as he chased after the child.

The child changed directions abruptly, racing behind a large tree.

"_Hey! I said wait!_" Spain called as he ran. Darn. That little kid sure was fast! Panting, he forced himself to go faster as he went around the tree. Maybe he could catch up if…

His train of thought was interrupted as he very nearly collided with a tiny figure. He was about to question why the child had suddenly stopped, when he took note that this was not the same boy. This child was wearing a tiny apron over what appeared to be a pink shirt. More importantly, this child wasn't cheerful like the first… in fact he looked angry.

"_Watch where you are going, you big jerk! First you try to trade me for my little brother and now this, huh? You're so stupid, Spain! So very stupid!_" The boy's eyes filled with tears as he tore off, just like the first had.

"_H-hold on a minute! Who are you calling Spain?! Spain is a country, my name is Antonio!_"

The youngster ignored him and disappeared into the distance.

"_Darn it…Why won't anyone tell me what is going on here?!_" the Spaniard groaned.

Suddenly the dreamscape went pitch black, all images becoming distant.

"_On Hon Hon! If you don't want him, give him to meeee!_" a French accent echoed in his mind.

"_Who?_" Spain asked feebly.

"_I am awesome!_" another voice screeched.

"_That does not make any sense!_" Spain cried.

A feminine voice giggled "_Here… have some waffles!_"

"_Not if Spain is there!"_ a masculine voice spat.

"_Who are you calling Spain?!_" the Spaniard cried out in exasperation.

"_I hate you so much!_" an Italian voice countered.

"_Wait a minute… that sounds like…_"

Spain rolled over in bed and groaned as he began to return to consciousness. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision from the blur of sleep. He blinked tentatively as he studied the room around him. The first thing he was quick to note, was that Romano was nowhere in sight. He shrugged silently; he probably had other things to do. After all, with a mansion as big as this one was, surely it was difficult to maintain. It wasn't long before the Spaniard's thoughts drifted back to the dreams from whence he'd surfaced. He frowned in frustration…. Something about those dreams had seemed so… _familiar_. There was little doubt in his mind; those dreams had something to do with his memories. If only he could piece them together! If only there was some way he could force himself to remember! As things were, however, all the images swirled together in an indistinguishable mess. Standing from his bed, he scanned the room diligently, praying to find some sort of clue to jog his memory. His prayers were answered as his eyes trained on a large trunk at the foot of his bed… a footlocker perhaps. He wasted little time in kneeling by the trunk, his fingers closed around the lid.

"_Por favor…Let me find some answers_!" Spain thought desperately as he threw the lid back.

He rummaged through the trunk, desperately hoping to find some sort of clue. His hands closed around a wooden frame… a picture? He lifted the item from the chest with care, drinking in the details. It was a painting of a small boy in a tiny apron. The boy was frowning, staring at the viewer with piercing copper eyes.

"The angry child from my dream…" Spain muttered.

Hastily, he turned the frame over, hoping to find some date or inscription. There was nothing. Frustrated, he let loose a sigh and resumed rummaging through the footlocker. There _had_ to be something in here that he'd remember…

Several minutes later he pulled from the chest a thick book that appeared to be a photo album, and began leafing through… There were so many faces. One picture showed a rather attractive blond with a green ribbon in her hair standing beside him and… was that Romano? Yes, that had to be him. He looked so incredibly grumpy. In another picture, Spain found himself surrounded on either side by a blond man holding a rose and a smug looking albino…

The Spaniard frowned as he continued to flip through. Why couldn't he remember any of this? It wasn't fair! With each photograph, his heart sunk a little further until he came to the point he simply couldn't bear to look any more. Hands trembling, he shut the thick volume. Tears began to sting as they gathered in the corners of his eyes, and fell down his cheeks.

"_¿Por qué?_" He cried "Why can't I remember anything?!"

The Spaniard's shoulders shook violently as he became overwhelmed by wracking sobs. The weight of his emotions crushing down on him, he fell flat on the floor, his tears soaking the hardwood.

Having dozed off while cleaning, Romano had lost track of the time. Upon waking, he decided it would be a good idea to check on Spain. He had been making his way down the hall when he heard a very clear thump. It sounded like something had fallen…

He blanched "_Mannaggia! Don't even tell me!_" he thought to himself, instantly picking up speed. His heart ached in his chest as he imagined what he might find. Surely it was Spain that had fallen! Would he have a new injury? Or worse… could his head injury have been furthered? What if he never remembered him! _Mannaggia!_

He stopped in front of Spain's room and turned the doorknob hurriedly, throwing the door open. He was greeted by the sight of the Spaniard on the floor and panic instantly flooded his mind. "SPAIN?! Mannaggia! Spain, I'm here!" he cried out as he knelt by the older man.

He tried his best to assess the situation, Spain was trembling terribly… was he having a seizure? Wait. No, that wasn't it. He could hear the Spaniard's breathing hitch followed by a whimper. It was then that it dawned on him. Spain was _crying_. In fact, he was crying so hard, that he couldn't even speak. _Mannaggia._ That just tore him up inside, to see his father figure so very broken up. He looked so pitiful, so hopeless. He felt tears welling in his own eyes, but forced them back… Spain needed him. For an instant he would have given anything to be Feliciano, to be capable of such sincerity, to give hugs so freely. "_But I'm not Veneziano_." He reminded himself sullenly as he shook the thought away. Another mournful sound came from Spain, shaking him to the core.

Before he could think twice, he pulled the Spaniard into a tight hug "P-please stop crying." He tried to sound commanding, but his voice wavered.

Spain swallowed thickly in an attempt to regain his ability to speak, "I-I d-don't w-w-want to be like this! B-but I d-d-don't think I'll ever r-remember!" he wailed mournfully.

"You big jerk! H-how dare you say that?!" Romano's voice wavered, "Mannaggia, Spain! I can't lose you… I can't, you hear me?! You are my freaking father! You raised me from the time I was small and you are one of my only friends! Mannaggia! You don't think you'll ever remember?! That's as good as giving up, you stupid jerk! You're so stupid, Spain!" His own tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

The Spaniard froze, "W-what did you just say?"

"I said you're stupid, Spain! So very stupid! Mannaggia! I hate you so much!" Romano attempted to wipe away his tears, but they continued to fall.

The Spaniard's eyes went wide and he sat there in what appeared to be shock. Images raced through his mind…that angry little boy...was he?...He had to be… Just now, Romano had said the exact same thing as the little boy from his dream. More images sped through his brain at lightning fast speed…

Spain whimpered; grasping his head as it filled with pain, there was almost too much to process.

"H-hey, what's wrong now?" Romano couldn't hide the worry in his tone.

"Ro- Romano…ughhh" Spain groaned, falling limp as he blacked out.

The Italian sat in a stunned silence, clutching the Spaniard in his arms. _Mannaggia._ He'd really done it this time. What was _wrong_ with him?! Spain was broken up enough as it is, and he'd _yelled _at him. Some good _that_ had done! It was _his_ fault Spain was unconscious. He swallowed a lump in his throat "L-listen, you jerk…y-you'd better wake up and mannaggia, you'd better be alright!"

Fresh tears spilled down the Italian's cheeks; there was no point in holding them back. There was no one to witness his moment of weakness, no one to see him cry. He felt so guilty. Spain had been in the very depths of despair, reaching hopelessly for a lifeline… and rather than tossing him a glimmer of hope to cling to, Romano had essentially pushed him further into the abyss. It made him feel sick inside. Even if the Spaniard did wake up soon, would he be okay?

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, only that tears kept coming. Suddenly, a groan filled the air and Romano became aware of a shifting motion in his arms as Spain began to stir.

"Romanoooooo." Spain cooed tiredly, green eyes focusing on the Italian.

"S-Sí?" Romano sniffled, hurriedly trying to wipe away his tears.

"Mi hijo, mi tomate… have you been crying?" the Spaniard asked, sitting up.

"N-no… don't be ridiculous, Ant-," Romano froze, copper eyes becoming as large as saucers.

"What is wrong with you? You look as though you've seen a ghost." Spain said lightly.

"Y-you… what did you just call me?!" Romano demanded.

Spain chuckled "Mi hijo. If it bothers you that much, I can try my best not to call you that, Romano."

"You remember me?!" Romano squeaked in disbelief.

"I only fell off a ladder." The Spaniard waved his hand nonchalantly "It would take a lot more than that to make me forget about you, Romano."

"Mannaggia, you jerk! Don't play games with me! You hit your head when you fell, you've had amnesia since last night!" the Italian shouted, jumping to his feet.

The Spaniard idly traced a hand over the bandage around his noggin. "Is that a fact?"

"Don't play dumb with me, you jerk! Do you know how much crap you put me through?! I was so worried!" Romano gritted his teeth.

Spain looked caught off guard "_So then… it wasn't a dream…_" he thought to himself. His mouth crept into a grin as he stood to his feet "I'm sorry for worrying you, Romano."

"Whatever." The Italian crossed his arms, pretending to be indifferent. However, he was incredibly happy to have his father figure back.

Spain's grin simply broadened "For what it is worth, mi hijo, you are a wonderful person. You did fantástico taking care of me. I am proud to call you my son."

Romano blushed, trying to hide the smile working its way onto his face "Yeah, well…welcome back… you big jerk."

"¡Sí! It is good to be back." Spain smiled warmly. Though his memory was a bit hazy of events leading from his fall until this point, he recalled enough to know how Romano had cared for him. And though he knew Romano would never own up to it, he'd called him his _father_. For him to have acknowledged him that way, it was all the reassurance he needed. _Yes_. Spain knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, his son _loved_ him. And that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

**And so a lengthy chapter brings our little tale to a close. I was tempted to string it out another chapter or so, but decided against it. I do hope you've all enjoyed 'Forgotten' and I'm sorry if the ending wasn't satisfactory. And yes, I used a bit of 'The Delicious Tomato Song'… I couldn't resist. As I'd written chapter 3 weeks ago, it was typing this chapter that took the longest. I knew what I wanted to happen, how I wanted it to happen, and yet I wasn't sure I had the right words to convey it. I do plan to write further Hetalia stories, though it may be a bit before the next one starts. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. Reviews make me happy! =)**

_*****Translations*****_

**Sí (Spanish)-** Yes

**¡Te amo paella! (Spanish)-** I love paella!

**¿Qué? (Spanish)-** What?

**Buono (Italian)-** Good

**Gracias (Spanish)-** Thank You/ Thanks

**Hermano España (Spanish)-** Brother Spain

**Por favor (Spanish)-** Please

**¿Por qué? (Spanish)-** Why?

**Mi hijo (Spanish)-** My Son

**Mi Tomate (Spanish)-** My Tomato

**Fantástico (Spanish)-** Fantastic


End file.
